Date: Wed, 22 Dec 1999 23:08:49 +0100
From: AKN <anmedia@anmedia.com>
Subject: The Ghosts of Christmas - chapter 1 (boy-band section)
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The Ghosts Of Christmas, The Labyrinth Of Lives, The Windings Of Love,
And The Coil Of Fears
by
Andreas K N (an@altavista.net), 1999
CONTENTS
I.....................Introduction
1...Chapter 1: Fall Into The Night
I. INTRODUCTION...
Why, Oh Why? (a.k.a. Tell Me Whyyay...)
---------------------------------------
As we all now, Christmas is just around the corner. I am
personally not very fond of holidays but I cannot deny the
positive effect that Christmas has on me - and many others for
that matter. There is something special about Christmas and the
myths and legends surrounding this, in northern hemispheres, way
too cold part of the year.
One of my all time favourite Christmas stories is 'A
Christmas Carol' and my fascination with that wonderful tale of
Scrooge and the ghosts on Christmas Eve is what inspired me to
write my first ever story for the Nifty archive.
I am certainly not new to the concept of Internet-published
fiction though. For a couple of years I have been writing a
screenplay on-line and delivered it in 'acts' to the many e-mail
subscribers of the screenplay. During the summer of this year
however, I decided to make a drastic change in the publication
schedule of that screenplay, Web Of Mystery, and *finish* the
entire screenplay before I republish it on the 'Net. The major
reason for the change was that I decided to do some major
reworking of the way I tell the complicated saga.
That leads me to where I am now.. Since I no longer publish
anything on the Net, and the revamped version of WOM is still in
outline stages, I felt like actually *writing* something, and
publishing it, for a change. I have also been reading the stories
in this section of Nifty for some time now and I must say I enjoy
them far more than I would want to. I'm a sucker for the romantic
stories here and I honestly feel very pathetic as I, glued to the
computer screen, burst into giggle attacks and clap my hands like
a little child as the stories get sappier and mushier by the
minute.
Showbiz, Modern Heroes, And Mushy Myths
---------------------------------------
Isn't it strange, writing fictional stories about
celebrities? Isn't it just freaky and way too obsessive and a
sign of obvious mental shortcomings?
I don't think so. Although I must admit, when I first
encountered this kind of fiction I did indeed think it was *very*
weird and probably written by sociopathic stalkers or something.
Of course, I soon realised how wrong I was and began to
understand just why this form of fiction is so popular. It is
really nothing new. Not a new thing at all, just a new twist on
something that have been an integral part of human society for as
long as it has existed.
The ancient Greek society had its Gods and heroes around
which stories were created and wondrous worlds of magic and
mystery were built. Before that we had people worshipping the
elements of nature and applying human characteristics to animals
and then later came the goblins, the vampires, werewolves, Santa
Claus (he's the odd-one out in this line-up, isn't he?)..
Books came and to great extent replaced the myths and
legends passed on from generation to generation through
storytellers and discussions around the fireplace. Society lost
that incredible line-up of gods and heroes, though a few monsters
survived to lurk between the pages of horror novels and leap onto
the Big Screen to scare the living daylights out of masochistic
moviegoers around the world ... well, at least the first 50 times
they appeared.
Heroes, however, did in most cases not survive this brave
new world of mass-publication. I am not referring to the heroes
of individual books but the heroes that we all recognise and know
- the heroes that feel perfectly real and tangible yet are just
elusive and mysterious enough for people to mould them into
anything they desire and make up whatever fantasies about them
they wish.
Heroes of that kind serve as a canvas to paint on. The
target audience knows the basics about the heroes and the
storyteller only has to make minor adjustments to implement them
in his story. The story in itself is what's important. When the
creator of this story, this modern 'myth', doesn't have to create
new characters all the time and *knows* for a fact that his
listeners can relate to these characters, that through these
'heroes' they are inevitably affected by the story, he can
concentrate on the story itself *and* he can tell it quickly and
forcefully without unnecessary time being wasted on creating a
whole new universe, however small it may be.
So, what am I getting at here? It is quite simple;
Celebrities are the 'heroes' of these modern times. Everyone in
showbiz plays a character in front of their audience - how close
to their real selves that 'image' is is up to them, or in most
cases, their management. These characters share some basic
qualities with for example the heroes of Greek mythology - they
'virtually real' to people and so far out of reach for most that
its almost as if they exist on another plane of reality. It could
be argued that these media-generated showbiz characters do indeed
exist on another reality plane - the wonderful place known as
imagination. It is easy and non-threatening to fantasise about
these characters. They're almost real, the fantasy could almost
be true - that makes them all the more tantalising.
Since the characters aren't real it is also unlikely that
the people who generated these 'modern heroes' - the artists
themselves - would be offended or hurt by any allegations or
fantasies about their showbiz personas - on a personal level that
is. Gossip and general slander can be damaging to their showbiz
character and the real people behind the characters depend on how
successful their 'image' is. Naturally.
This finally brings us to were we are - the boy-band
section of the Nifty archive. These boy-bands are our 'heroes' -
they make up the foundation of our collective mythology. We all
know that the stories aren't true - and that they don't
(necessarily) deal with the *real* personalities of these young
stars. What is important is that we *know* the characters. We
care about them and we know how they look and how they sound. We
want to read or create stories about them because they are
'heroes' that suits us for one reason or another. Just like in
ancient Greece, some people preferred to listen to stories of
great heroes while some rather discussed the greatness of the
gods.
For people not yet 'out', it is also nice to be presented
with the idea that people like Nick, JC, Justin or some other
famous cutie *could* be gay - that modern 'heroes' of that
calibre *could* also be a little 'weird'. Even though none of the
stories are true and the characters aren't based on actual people
but rather 'showbiz heroes' they still present plausible
situations and wonderfully romantic stories which show that love
between two males is not something ugly .. or even different -
it's just love and as we all know - love *is* blind ... if it
wasn't it wouldn't be. Right?
Who I Am And Why I Must Apologise
---------------------------------
Let's start off with an apology.. I'm from Sweden.
Okay, so is being from Sweden something to apologise for,
then? No. Probably not. However, since I have lived all my life
in Sweden and learnt English primarily through the Swedish
school-system my English vocabulary is considerably less
voluminous than those of most authors here at Nifty and my
insight into slang is virtually non-existent. Because of this
shortcoming I am not able to write nearly as good stories in
English as in Swedish and thereof comes my apology; This story
will never reach such high standards as many of the other stories
in this section but I hope to provide a good enough plot for you
to forget about the lack of diversity that would have been
present should this have been written in Swedish.
Whew. Long sentence. Shouldn't have those. No good. These
even things out. Yes. No doubt... Annoying, am I not.
What's more to know about me? I am an artist. I like to
call myself that since I get tired of lining up all my interests.
Currently I am producing my own web site - ANMEDIA.com - which
will be launched next year, I'm writing songs and improving my
singing skills, outlining some script ideas, and ...... oh yeah
... writing this.
I do a lot. Period. I'll have a personal section at
ANMEDIA.com next year so anyone can find out everything they
don't need to know about me there.
About This Story
----------------
This story involves members of the BSB and 'NSync and
perhaps a few other celebrities. The characters in this story
have *nothing* whatsoever to do with the real people behind the
*real* boy-bands. It is completely fictional and the only reason
I use these characters is because they serve my purpose in
telling this story.
Also, unlike some other authors in this section, I have no
'crush' on any of the people in this story and no real desire to
meet them in real life or even go to one of their concerts. I
like meeting people but I see no reason in doing something out of
the ordinary to meet celebrities - they're just people who are
way to difficult to get a hold of.
As for their looks - yeah, they're kinda cute sometimes but
not extraordinarily so.
This story is made up of a lot of different elements,
genres, and moods. A lot of it is humoristically silly but the
core story is very serious. The story will go from comedy to
tragedy to adventure and just generally bounce all around the
place. This may sound confusing but I feel confident that it will
work. I am a strong believer in the mixing of moods and genres -
when it is done with care. Life is neither one genre nor one mood
- life is the most complex thing I can think of and stories that
keep themselves strictly within one genre or mood does, in my
humble opinion, not reflect the chaos that is life very well.
Having said that, I hope you will find this story
entertaining and not be too confused.
Disclaimer
----------
This story is completely fictional. It is not meant to
directly or indirectly imply anything pertaining to reality,
especially members of 'NSync, BSB, and other celebrities. The use
of celebrities as characters is purely for non-profit
entertainment purposes. (I am repetitive, I knooow..)
To the best of my knowledge, Crester Inc. does not exist.
If I at any point say anything disfavourable about, for example, a
certain soft drink company, I will not apologise. Not now, not
ever. This has got nothing to do with the actual beverages
though.
If any laws prohibit your reading this you are strongly
advised to read no further. This story contains numerous
references to homosexual relationships.
Well, ENOUGH already! Let's get on with the actual story,
shall we? ;-)
....................................
---------
Chapter 1
Fall Into The Night
-------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen! The Backstreet Boys!!"
The host, a slender, and undeniably attractive
twenty-something man with blond-white hair, bellowed out the last
few syllables as he pointed to the right side of the stage. One
after the other, the five members of the Backstreet Boys entered
the lavishly decorated stage.
Even though they had rehearsed inside the Dome a number of
times before the concert, they couldn't help but be amazed by the
breathtaking sight of the enormous space in front of them. This
modern cathedral of music extravaganza was literally packed, and
then some, with people. Everywhere you looked there were
Christmas trees, burning candles, presents, garlands, and just
about everything else that has even the slightest connection to
the wondrous holiday of Major Commerce.
Spread around the area, as the icing on the cake, or as the
icing of a heavily trafficked road, whichever you prefer, were
also a whole bunch of 'ho ho'-ing Santa Clauses and one couldn't
help but wonder just how confused all the little children would
be by seeing that many versions of the same liquor-smelling old
man at the same time. With more life-experience they might have
drawn the conclusion that someone must have put something in
their milk. That the strange smells must originate from their own
mouths. Not from the bearded old-timers staggering around looking
for reindeers, food, or something incoherently rambled through
strangely peeling plastic beards.
This was the Crester Palace Christmas Special, a televised
show featuring major acts like Whitney Houston, Phil Collins, N
Sync, Aretha Franklin, the Backstreet Boys and many more.
Most people would agree with anyone claiming that Crester
Inc. is surely the one company that exploits Christmas the most.
Crester and its partner in crime Coca Cola own Christmas.
Furthermore, the Crester Palace Christmas Special is the
uncrowned Queen Mother of disgustingly commercial spectacles. Yes
indeed, go out on a crowded street during the Christmas rush and
shout out to everyone that you love Crester Inc. and you might as
well wear a sign that says 'Social Outcast' and save your voice
for more demanding times.
A gang of homeless people might think you are a Crester
employee and, being former Crester employees themselves, they
will probably drag you into an alley and ... you will need your
voice to scream for help.
Oh yes, people in general carry a deeply rooted hatred
towards Crester Inc.
Yet, they all watch the Christmas Special.
What is the point of not watching?
Everyone else does anyway.
Except the homeless former employees and the now mentally
insane former executives. They won't watch because they don't
have a television set.
Of course, Crester, being the utterly sadistic company it
is, usually puts big TV screens in every other alley just for
this night. Just to rub it in. "Crester Loves Christmas" as the
official slogan says. CLC. Some say that the real meaning of CLC
is "Crester Loves Crester" but since those people are deranged
former Crester executives, no one ever pays the slightest bit of
attention to them.
The presenter of this particular Christmas special was
Gregory McTavish, a dazzlingly handsome former model turned
television superstar and, not surprisingly, pop-singer
mega-fiasco. He didn't have a bad voice. In fact, his vocal
chords were better than those of many more successful pop-singers.
He just didn't express any feelings. Some critics would claim
that the reason for this is that Greg McTavish is the King, or
perhaps rather the Queen, of the Dumb Blondes society. Televisions
number one super bimbo. McTavish, however, would defend himself
claiming that he couldn't relate to any of his songs. A former
songwriter of his claimed that McTavish simply couldn't relate to
anything more intelligent than a cow.
A cow made of duck feathers and tape.
When the Backstreet Boys walked onto the stage, Greg walked
off and passed by the five guys with a smile on his face. It was
no big secret that McTavish was into guys more than girls and he
happened to be one of those people who thought all five Boys were
just 'so darn cute'. Of course, there were a lot of those people
around.
The youngest Backstreet Boy, Nick Carter, wasn't in a very
good mood as he walked in to smile at the audience that night. He
had just been cuddling in a sofa with his girlfriend like he used
to before concerts but something wasn't right - something didn't
feel right. He had been noticing more and more over the past
months that he seemed to be almost constantly upset and generally
aggravated. What aggravated him the most was that he had no idea
why he was aggravated and being aggravated without knowing the
reason for this aggravating state of mind tends to lead to even
greater aggravation and then some.
Nick was as amazed by all the decorations, people, lights,
and staggering Santa Clauses as the rest of the group but as the
presenter, a certain devilishly handsome Mr. McTavish, walked
past him, Nick shot the dashing blonde a glance and was surprised
to see the perky young man smile even wider than before and ...
wink at Nick! The young singer immediately turned his attention
to a, judging by his intense staring, terribly exciting half-dead
red flower on the other side of the stage.
There it was again -- the Aggravation. Feelings welling up
from the innermost regions of his very being. Confusion,
aggravation, building anger, and .. the music booming out from
the loudspeakers. It took a few moments for Nick to realise just
what was going on around him but luckily his confused mind found
the answer seconds before his solo began. Soon the rest of the
boys joined in and their new Xmas song filled the dome.
There's a Christmas feeling
In the air
Snowflakes and happiness
Everywhere
We listen to the sleigh-bells ring
Ding
Listen to the people sing...
Of course, the audience that night never noticed that
something was bothering young Nick Carter. Regardless of his
personal problems and general confusion he was a great performer
and after a while on stage he left his confused self behind and
became Nick Carter - the performer. Nothing else existed or
mattered at that moment except the audience, the other group
members, and the deeply rooted instinct within him to entertain,
no matter what. The Aggravation was gone. The entertainer within
Nick was happy. So happy it could not hear the desperate cries of
a frightened little boy falling further and further down into a
dark and bottomless hole, into oblivion, into the terrifying well
of compassionless indifference.
-----
At that very moment, a fairly old and gruesomely dusty
television set was tuned to one of the many channels broadcasting
the Crester Palace Christmas Special. The room in which this
particular piece of unappealing equipment was placed was
completely dark except for the blue-white glow emanating from the
small screen.
This in itself was nothing out of the ordinary. An active
television set *not* tuned to the CPCS this evening would have
been something for the early morning headlines though. The
unusual part of this, at first glance oh-so-common scene, was
that this room was situated somewhere in the 64th dimension.
Where exactly in the 64th dimension wasn't altogether clear
though, since the surveyors in that dimension are all a bunch of
drunkards with terribly short attention-spans.
The second unusual element were the spectators themselves.
Gathered in front of the TV set was a stunning woman with blonde
hair, a man who held his head in his hand and had a teapot
boiling where his neck should have been, an English butler who
looked as if he had just popped out of a very old black and white
movie, a gangly gentleman in a pitch black cloak, a furry little
black and white creature jumping all over the place with *way*
too much excess energy, and a whole bunch of equally weird, if
not weirder, characters.
The cloaked one slowly spoke up.
"Impressive song.."
"Happy song.." the decapitated one said with a total lack
of enthusiasm, or any other feeling for that matter.
"Soo.." the woman spoke up, "that's our boy? He doesn't
look too happy.."
The cloaked one sighed. "No... Little does he know we are
going to make it worse tonight--"
"Let's partyyyyyyiieeeeehh!!" the furry one screeched as he
zoomed past the man and quickly got very closely acquainted with
the opposite wall.
The cloaked man burst out into a frightening laughter. A
laughter that seemed to echo of a thousand empty hallways filled
with memories of millions of lost souls crying out in agony and
despair.
The blonde woman quickly put her hands over her ears and
wheezed, "You have *got* to work on that laughter of yours,
Yerad!"
-----
"I'm sorry James, I really am--"
Sitting in one of the rooms backstage at the Crester
Palace, N Sync bass singer James Lansten Bass, normally addressed
by his nickname Lance, pressed the Hang Up button on his
cell-phone. He slowly leaned back in the black couch and stared
blankly into space.
The door opened and in stepped Joey Fatone, another N Sync
member. When he saw Lance's expression he immediately sat down on
the couch next to the blond, green-eyed singer. He leaned towards
him and whispered.
"Lance? Whassup? Is something bothering you?" '..stupid
question' he thought, "What is it? You're usually so excited
around Christmas.."
Lance continued to stare at nothingness but spoke up
quietly.
"I wish... I wish it wasn't.."
"Wasn't what?"
"Christmas"
Joey sat back in confusion. "What?! But.. You love
Christmas!"
Lance didn't respond so Joey continued.
"I mean.. your whole family is crazy about holidays...
you're holiday fanatics... you're always telling me how much fun
you all have at that big Christmas party of yours.. the food, the
gifts, the danc--"
He was interrupted by Lance who this time spoke up
forcefully. "I'm not invited!"
"Wha--? How? .. It's your family - isn't that like an
invitation in itself? I don't--"
Once again, he was rudely interrupted. This time Lance
stared him in the eyes. His green eyes sparkled as if a fire
burned inside him. "They don't want me there OKAY?!" He jumped
off the couch. "They don't want someone like me at the party!
It's embarrassing for my parents! It disturbs the others! It's me
or them! Either way I am not going to any party unless I make one
up in my head and go CRAZY!!"
Lance dropped down on a chair and the tears started to well
up but none fell.
Joey's mind was having trouble processing.
"Someone ... like you?" he asked, bewildered.
"What?! I have to make it clearer?!" Lance snapped, "They
don't want 'one of them' at their party! Not one of us! ... They
don't want to have any FAGS around at Christmas time!!" The tears
fell, one by one until they formed a steady stream down his
cheeks.
There was a few awkward moments of silence before Joey
spoke up again in a small voice.
"But ... I thought your family accepted you..."
"They did.."
"But.."
"My parents accepted me... Some of my relatives.." He
looked up at Joey, "Not my entire wholesome Southern Baptist
family!" He said the last four words with such anger and contempt
that Joey flinched momentarily before moving over to the chair
next to Lance's and pulling the young man into a deep, comforting
hug.
He ran his hand through Lance's blond spikes as much as
anyone could run anything through all that gel. "So.. so..", he
said, "it's okay.."
"No.." Lance mumbled and lifted his head up to look Joey in
the eyes, "I.. I loved Christmas.. I love Christmas ... and now..
it's gone..", he looked down and began to sob, "it's gone. It's
gone.."
Joey stared into space with a desperate look on his face
and rubbed Lance's back softly.
"I loved Christmas... it's gone... gone .. Christmas ... is
gone.."
-----
Back in the embarrassingly disorganised 64th dimension,
Yerad let out a deep sigh as he watched Lance and Joey on the
screen in front of him.
As you might have guessed already, the TV sets in the 64th
dimension have far greater abilities than their counterparts in
our own dimension. Of course, the fact that they can tune into
almost anything at any place in our dimension makes channel
browsing practically impossible. The only ones who would even
consider trying to browse channels would be the drunken surveyors
since we all know how intelligent they are. Ehh.
"There's another one.." the woman said.
"Yes.. he will be given the power of choice.."
"I wonder which way he'll take?" the decapitated man
pondered as he lightly sipped his tea.
"His way, I would believe, sir." the butler said.
"You have a clearly underestimated ability to state the
obvious my dear James," Yerad muttered.
Just then, the energetic and furry little creature
mentioned earlier bounced up and accidentally knocked a big bowl
of potato crisps off the table and straight up into the air.
Crisps spread out over the room, falling like big, yellowish
snowflakes over everyone and everything. The furry one stopped on
the table and looked around with a worried expression on his
face.
"Ehm, anyone care for some potato crisps?" he said.
Everyone turned slowly to stare at the black and white
little creature.
He smiled widely yet somewhat uneasily. "He, he .. hehhh.."
-----
Meanwhile, in Glimminge Hus, an old castle situated about
as far south as one can get in Sweden, three more or less
suspicious characters were sneaking through the deserted
hallways. Though 'meanwhile' might not be the ideal way of
describing the time or place since it is uncertain just what
relationship this particular place has to any given point in time
or space. These three visitors to the castle were in fact more
aware of that phenomenon than they had ever wished to be.
The small group consisted of one twenty-something blond
Swedish male who looked extremely grumpy at this point in time,
whichever point that may be, a young Afro-American woman who,
judging by her outfit, seemed to belong in an office rather than
an old castle, and last, not least but undeniably shortest, was a
beautiful young blonde woman suffering from severe sleep
deprivation, she too a native Swede.
"So," the young man said with a frown, "we're here.. Now
what?"
There was a silence as the young American woman, who could
easily pass for a secretary of some sort, looked around the dark
hallway as if looking for some sort of sign.
The man slowly turned to stare at her. "You really have no
idea, do you?" he simply confirmed more than asked.
"I was told to come here ... then I would receive further
information.." she defended herself.
The man snickered. "You just do everything the Big O asks
you to, don't you? I bet you brought your teachers apples in
school too!"
The woman didn't even bother to reply.
"Jag e sa javla trott!" the other woman yawned.
"It's amazing how having the IQ of a small bird can be so
tiresome," the man said in a wry tone. The other blonde just
glared at him.
Meanwhile, the taller woman had moved over to a place in
the wall were some light was visible through a small crack in the
wall.
She leaned closer and heard a terribly annoying laughter
coming from the other side of the stone wall. "Um.. I think I've
found something..."
-----
Meanwhile, or whatever, outside the Crester Palace.
A young man and woman, possibly the same age, were talking
to an older woman dressed in a grey and black designer outfit. It
was quite apparent to anyone that she was a business woman. The
huge black limo next to the group of three did nothing but add to
that impression.
The limo was parked in an alley behind the Palace and the
two youths were checking their equipment, like flashlights and
various weapons, while the older woman gave them quick
instructions and repeatedly pointed to the Palace.
"Is that clear?" the woman asked the other two. She sounded
stressed out.
"Perfectly!" the man answered chipperly while at the same
time fiddling with something on his belt.
The younger woman looked at the older one's doubtful
expression and spoke up with conviction. "We are ready. Don't
worry! We have all instructions in PIMs anyway.."
"Good," the older one said, "you know this is very
important. You have to do this tonight 'cause I'll have to set
the lawyers loose tomorrow.." she looked up at the Palace and
smiled wickedly, "All right my friends! Let's chop Crester to
pieces and put 'em in the fryin' pan!" Her southern accent was
suddenly very obvious.
They all laughed before the businesswoman quickly jumped
into her waiting limo.
"Now, get movin'!" she said before closing the door.
The limo drove off and the man and woman, obviously a team
of some sort, hurried over to the Palace.
-----
The Crester Palace included not only the big concert hall
but also a hotel where the performing artists could stay. The
Backstreet Boys were on their way to their floor as they
approached the elevators that night. Little did they know that
this particular elevator ride would be a very, very different
one.
There was a young Afro-American man welcoming them to the
elevator this night. He asked which floor and they said five. All
of them were more or less surprised to find someone managing the
elevator since there had been no one there earlier but they were
all too tired to ask. Not that they would have gotten an answer
even if they had asked.
"Sooo.. you're the Backstreet Boys?" the elevator guy
asked. Perhaps just 'guy' would have been more appropriate since
he really didn't look like he had anything to do with the
elevator or even Crester Inc.
The singers began to feel more and more uncomfortable,
thinking he might be some crazed fan .. or worse. Therefore, the
not so overwhelming response he got was some insecure 'Uh huh's.
What made the others even more suspicious was that he
didn't seem at all bothered by their somewhat rude response. He
just kept on talking.
"Going to floor five ... and there are five of ya.." He
seemed very amused by this fact.
Then suddenly, the elevator stopped and all the passengers
looked around with bewildered and frightened expressions on their
faces. Well, everyone except the conversationalist who just
looked as if this was all expected - *and* heaps of fun.
After a few seconds the elevator began falling rapidly and
all the Boys screamed. Of course, the 'odd-one-out' remained as
calm as ever, only now he had to raise his voice considerably to
be heard. Or at least, have any chance of being heard since he
sincerely doubted that any of his co-passengers were paying much
attention.
"So a rapid fall and decrease in the floor numbers could be
seen as a sign of the group breaking up could it not?!" he asked
no one in particular and then continued "So--" He stopped,
noticing that the others had disappeared from his field of
vision.
After a moment of confusion you could actually see a
light bulb appear and shine above his head as he looked up at the
Boys. Under normal circumstances the five young men would have
found it very strange and quite discomforting to see a light bulb
floating over anyone's head but this time they were far to busy
being pressed up against the elevator ceiling to be bothered with
such minor details.
"So going below floor zero would pretty much mean the end
of the Backstreet Boys, WOULD IT NOT?!!"
He sighed.
"You're just not paying attention are you.." he said as the
five pop stars screamed louder than they had ever done before.
"And *still* yer eyes look ready to pop out.. Ah well.. Gotta
go!" He smiled widely. "Wouldn't want to impose and CRASH the
party now would I?"
With a laugh he then just vanished into thin air. Not that
anyone was paying any attention to him.
Nick stared at the elevator floor below him. Everything
seemed to be happening in slow motion. Almost as if it wasn't
real. 'Maybe it's just a bad dream' he thought.
To answer that question for you, most honourable reader,
that exact same thought was shared by all of his four friends at
that very moment. And for the same reason, I might add.
He saw the floor crumple. Burst into millions of little
pieces.
He saw the explosion coming towards him. The last thing he
felt was his falling body reaching the rising explosion and then
Darkness.
TBC
**************************
That's it for this time. If you are reading this I
sincerely hope you will e-mail me and tell me what you think of
the story so far. If no one is reading then I will naturally not
continue writing. This is a story written for entertainment
purposes and that means it has to have an audience or it WILL
die. My e-mail address is an@altavista.net .
I do hope you're enjoying the story but it's fairly
different so I really have no idea. To tell the truth, I'm not
terribly pleased with it myself.
Oh, of course, Happy Holidays!
/ AKN
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Copyright 1999 Andreas K N
Characters from Enlisted(TM) and XYXX(TM)
are copyright 1999 po'tolo Productions
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